The Ghost's Hangover
by Shauds02
Summary: Jason's ill conceived attempt to have a beer with Dick has gone wrong. He's miserable and sick and now Dick keeps laughing and Bruce is giving him Tylenol. Is it too much to ask to be dead again?


He's been poisoned, he knows it the second he comes to some semblance of consciousness. His head is sore and stiff, like someone's stuffed it with an over abundance of those dish sponges that had steel wool on one end. His skin his clammy and a chemical, alcoholic smell clings to the arm that's positioned near his head. It must have been something strong, he can't even remember what happened to him past a certain point, and something tells him he shouldn't try.

He doesn't move, holds himself still in his attempt at mimicking unconsciousness, to gather information about his captors, make a plan before they know it. They must be dangerous if they managed to get him. His head hurts so bad he might have a concussion, now that he thinks about it. He runs his tongue over his mouth, almost gagging at the foul taste.

"Hey, you awake?"

Dick was poisoned too?! Shit, now he's going to have to find a way to get them both out. Jason cracks open an eyelid and what must be the brightest light in all of existence assaults his retinas. It stabs through is eyes and right into his already aching brain not just once, and all over, like some demented cat is kneading it's steel claws all along his brain matter.

Jason whimpers and buries his face in the ultra soft pillow, the sweet scent of lavender making the incredible nausea a little more tolerable, as he waves his hand in the direction of the bright light. Maybe some someone, anyone would have some small mercy on his tortured soul.

"Sorry, Alfred's rules, you want to drink you have to deal with the curtains opening at the usual time, no exceptions." Dick's voice does sound remorseful, but he's already aligned himself with the enemy. "Lucky you were never old enough to deal with it before."

Jason would have said something back, something along the line of 'please shut up so the cat will let go of my brain' but his throat is so dry he doesn't trust it to be capable of making any half-intelligible sounds. They must have been starving him for weeks for him to get him so dehydrated.

There's only one haven from the light. Jason feels out the edge of the bed with his foot, then he rolls over and lets himself fall. Ouch, his full weight crashing to the floor jars his stomach and if there was much in it, he knows he would have thrown it up. Dick's startled cry doesn't help matters. Without opening his eyes, Jason crawls the rest away under the bed, where it's dark and the floor is so, so cool against his flushed skin. He almost groans at the sweet relief.

"What happened, what's wrong?" Bruce… Some memories are coming back now, snatches of Dick dragging him through the streets and of throwing up all over Bruce's cape… Jason wishes he were poisoned instead. Jason's decided not to care. He reaches an arm out of his sanctuary to pull the pillow down from the bed so he can bury his face in the lavender again. He swears he hears a chuckle.

He opens his eyes, just the slightest bit, at the scratches ahead of him, in time to see Bruce kneel down and peer under the bed at him. Jason doesn't blink at the man's concerned frown or the amused pursing of lips that follow. With his eyes he dares Bruce to try making him move, he can bare the pain for that, or he tries to, he doesn't know how well he pulls it off. I a couple seconds Bruce is gone, Jason takes this as a win and tries to relax a little, pushing his discomfort to the back of his mind.

Then there's chinking and more scraping. A glass of water has been slid up to Jason, and besides it are two Tylenol on a calloused palm. Jason drinks down half the water before he takes the pills. It's fine or about ten seconds, then his stomach registers the presence of a solid. A speedster might not have been able to catch Jason when he tore out from under the bed, Bruce certainly couldn't.

Thankfully, he remembered the layout of the manor's bedrooms well enough to make a beeline for the attached bathroom; he wouldn't have made it otherwise. His knees drop to kneel before the porcelain god hard enough that they might bruise and then there goes the water, and the Tylenol and some disgusting half-sweet gunk that's probably half-digested alcohol.

Dick's laughing at him, Jason tries to flip him off over his shoulder, but his body curls around the toilet too fast, and he's retching again, depositing everything else his stomach has into the bowl. There's a hand on his back and a cloth against his head.

"S' low, doing this t' catch me." Jason mumbled, eyes closed and leaning into the cool cloth, then sipping gingerly from the glass that's pressed against his lips. They had him, there was no point I being vigilant. "M dead again, wish I was dead."

"Dick was almost as bad as you his morning." If Jason ignored then tension bleeding in at the corners, Bruce would have sounded almost calm. His hand brushed through Jason's sweaty hair. "He's lucky he's not the only one that's miserable today."

Jason takes more Tylenol and actually manages to keep it down this time. He still feels unbalanced, his mind struggling to run like it should, like a car that stalls every few minutes, he can get it going, but not for long enough to get anywhere. He lets Bruce help him back to the room. To his immense displeasure, the curtains are still wide open, allowing the widow to spew its weapon of mass destruction all through the room, free to continue its destruction of Jason's brain.

"They stay open, Alfred's rule and no one in this family is exempt." Bruce says.

Jason groans and drops all his weight down, Bruce is actually surprised enough by the action to let go and Jason can crawl under the bad again, safe from. He curls himself around the pillow, crushing it to his chest and under his chin.

"Jason." Bruce sounds exasperated, but Jason doesn't care. "Can you come out from there so we can talk?"

"Jus' leave me to die in peace." Jason begs, even though it's kind of nice to have Bruce's bulk blocking out more of the light. "'Y can do whatever the hell you want with me after." They can put him in Blackgate or Iron Heights for all he cares, not like he can't break out, and the trouble of doing so could never have been as bad as this.

"Whatever he wants?" Dicks on the bed, hanging over to watch Jason's suffering himself. If Jason hasn't just found a position that made the nausea bearable, he would have punched him. This was all his fault, no, no, it wasn't, it was all Jason's stupid fault, and that was even worse.

He should have just stopped at the one beer, like he'd planned on doing at the start of the night.

Jason stopped thinking about it; he breathed in lavender and struggled with both love for the man whose fabric softener bore the scent, and hatred for the stupid curtain rule, that no one in the stupid fucking family was exempt… wait.

No one in the family….

"Fine." Bruce sighed heavily; he patted Jason's calf, the only part of him easily within reach, the Bruce's footsteps leading away.

Dick left too, and Jason was met with blessed silence, he watched the shut door, unable to look away from it until exhaustion drew him back down to sleep so slowly he barely even noticed it.

In the family.


End file.
